


Blood

by Glacialis_Quasar, Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot



Series: Tumblr Exchange Project [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Tumblr Exchange Project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glacialis_Quasar/pseuds/Glacialis_Quasar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot/pseuds/Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And even still their hands are bathed in blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is a thing Ember and I decided to do based on [this post](http://curvyrainbowboi.tumblr.com/post/95620622090/grimdarkthroes-you-know-whatd-be-a-fun). So in this one I did the images and she words.

He knew this pain. Years passed and he’d always remembered this pain, though now it was tinged with something different than the other memory. Still, tears of pain streamed down his face as he struggled against the immobility that threatened to consume him in more than just one fashion. It was difficult, if not impossible, for him to manage to get up, to not fall into a heap of blood and pain.

And  _why_  was there so much more blood? A lot of it he understood, there was a significant amount of it that was tied to the reason he couldn’t get up. He’d managed to drag himself forward, leaving a wet smear of blood behind, but there was something just not connecting in his mind. There was too much blood. The location was off, and he kept coming back to that as he groped nearly blindly for something to pull up on. There was desperation clawing at his throat, building into a scream that wanted  _out_  and there was no way he was going to be able to keep it in.

It hadn’t hurt this bad the last time, had it? He doubted that it had. But balancing on an automail leg was much more difficult than balancing on a flesh one – especially when his center of balance was as off as it was – and the moment he thought he’d managed to achieve some semblance of upward motion he was crashing down again, gritting his teeth and reaching out forward. There had to be something he could grab ahold of. Why was there so much blood? Had something gone wrong and he hadn’t realized, hadn’t picked up on it? There was something he was missing, some information that was needed to click into place but that was one too many thing for him to try and figure out among the other sensations that were claiming him and dragging him down down down.


	2. Chapter 2

There was utterly, now and forever, no way to ever deny the fact that there was blood on his hands. On all of their hands. Sure, the country was heading on a better path now, sure the fighting was all but a distant dream now but… there was no rinsing blood off of his hands. He’d climbed the ladder up to the top and sat down upon that already blood-soaked throne.

All it had done was put his fingers on an even bigger trigger. If he lost control up here the fall would be harder, meaner, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to climb out from the pool of blood that was the past again. Roy did well enough on passing over it, playing at being in total control, in general but sometimes there were just occasions in which he was rendered incapable of doing just that. This was nearly one of them, looking at the paper on the desk in front of him at the letter and the information. That the other alchemist had actually thought to send him a letter, offering his services. Roy wondered if it was the similarity between the two – the dual origin from the pool of blood with hands so covered in blood there was no way of pretending otherwise – that had him actually considering reinstating the man.

The Crimson Alchemist. If any of them had a name that screamed about the blood covering their hands, it was him. And yet, with things the way they were – there was hardly any way he could turn down an offer of assistance from someone such as him. He signed off on the reinstatement with a slight wince, wondering if he was starting the country down an even bloodier path than the one he’d only just gotten it off of. He could hope otherwise, he  _would_ hope otherwise but there was no promise that he was.

He had his bloody hand on a big trigger.

He’d never had the best of luck with those. Frowning he stood from his seat and paced from his office, feeding the bodyguard waiting at the door something about needing a moment to himself and he walked his way to the nearest bathroom where he stood and washed his hands like that little action could do something to clean them.

As much as part of him didn’t want to clean them. As much as part of him enjoyed the phantom blood on his hands. That was a part that didn’t need to see the light of day. Not again.

For all that he thought himself different; it was getting clear to him over time that he and the madman he’d just signed off on the reinstatement of were two sides of the same coin. A disgusting coin minted with the suffering of hundreds and drenched in the bloodshed. Shaking his head, he cupped water in his hands and splashed his face with it. For a sticky, terrifying second, the face that looked back at him in the mirror was drenched in blood rather than water and he heard that voice echo like the man was standing in the room himself.

“Did you expect anything else when you put on that uniform?”

Had he? Had he expected anything short of a life with hands covered in blood that could never be washed away? Blood that some part of him kept locked away in the depths enjoyed? He shook himself, blinking until the images in the mirror had cleared only for him to shout briefly at spotting that person with the white hat looking at him in the mirror. He wasn’t sure about the response to that question. He might not ever be sure about it. The only thing he could hold on to was that bloodstained hands left no marks on a bloodstained throne; the blood on his hands gave him better grip up the ladder and as long as he didn’t fall and didn’t pull the trigger, maybe the bloody pool waiting for him at the bottom wasn’t so terrifying.


End file.
